Someone in this house is nesting. I'll give you a hint. It's not me (yet). And it's not the purry ones.
Sunday, Mr. W and I decided it was time to tackle the ominous task of stroller and car seat shopping. It's still early, but I wanted to do it while I was feeling decent and before we were under any pressure to make a decision. What started as a casual trip to the baby boutique and lunch, turned into and all day affair followed by dinner.
As a reward for dragging Mr. W around and for his constructive input on the matters, I took him to his favorite gourmet market so he could get some caviar. On the way, we side-stepped into his favorite Italian linen store. Now, although Mr. W likes to bake and sew, he is a man's man. The garage is full of camo gear and the house wreaks of testosterone during hunting and fishing season. And since there is something to hunt or fish for all year round....well, you get the picture.
But I digress.
If there is an obscure indulgence Mr. W enjoys (besides caviar) it's Italian linens. The store is having a sale (if you could call it that) so we wander through. There is a heavenly bed ensemble that we both are drawn to (not on sale of course) and so I drool over it for awhile, then decide to leave. It's really not the time for frivolous matters and we have a lovely collection on our bed from this store already.
But Mr. W is not having any of that. He summons the sales person ("bed designer") and tells her we want the whole thing. The sheets, the Euro shams, the regular shams, the coverlet, the silk duvet cover, and the silk throw. My jaw hits the floor. The salesperson runs to get her little book of swatches and stuff while trailing off that the fabrics are custom dyed per order and so the wait time is at least 8 weeks.
"Perfect," says Mr. W. He turns to me and smirks, "We're looking to come off of this baby thing strong, you know." (A line from one of his favorite movies.) And then it hits me.
For weeks now, our bedroom has been turned upside down by my humidifier, various medicinal accoutrements, and bottles or cups of whatever I can eat or drink. The bed is stuffed with old pillows every which way, and other things rolled up and twisted to make me comfortable. What was a gracious retreat, is now a fun house for a whiny pregnant lady and her jilted servant.
And so it occurs to me that Mr. W misses his wife.
There is a woodpecker that bangs on the flue of the fireplace in our bedroom from time to time. It's an obnoxious sound that echoes down the fireplace and throughout the bedroom. Fortunately, it only happens one time a year. I've been told that male woodpeckers make their nest and then summon their mate (by banging on our fireplace) to come inspect it. If she doesn't like it, she leaves.
The arrival of the new bed linens, shall almost coincide with nuggets' arrival. Me thinks Mr. W is preparing to fluff his his nest - to welcome his wife back.